


you shine, the world stops, and gods are humbled

by paladin_piper



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Cecilia Cousland - Freeform, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Minor Injuries, Original Female Character - Freeform, Rendon Howe is a Bastard, Terrible Found Family AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 05:20:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20501537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paladin_piper/pseuds/paladin_piper
Summary: Nathaniel Howe gets hurt in Kal’Hirol. Cecilia Cousland learns just how deep that injury runs.





	you shine, the world stops, and gods are humbled

**9:31, Kal’Hirol**

“Sigrun, on your left!”

The rogue beside her sinks her dual blades into the head of a rotting Genlock with precision, but they’re still overwhelmed. Cecilia struggles to see in the chaos and darkness of the Deep Road, her Warden senses going wild as she bashes her dirty shield against the side of a Hurlock wielding a crossbow.

“Anders!” Cecilia yells out, whipping her head around to try and find her mage in the mess. He’s cornered for the moment, swinging his staff around in a wide arch. She hears the sound of a skull cracking against the metal tip of his staff before a wall of flames erupt from the dirt. The Darkspawn encircling him fall to the ground, burnt to a crisp. Anders blows on his smoking fingers, and the comedic move would have Cecilia cracking a smile... if she could find her archer.

She calls his name, and is answered by the growl of a Genlock assassin appearing from stealth at her knees. Cecilia kicks the creature back, barely avoiding its poisoned blades as it swings at her. “Nathaniel!” She shouts again, this time answered by three arrows sinking into the back of the Genlock. It crumples at her feet, and Nathaniel lets the stealth melt from his body, coming over to the team once his path is cleared.

“Stay close,” She commands, Anders joining their group once the last Darkspawn is dead. “I don’t want another surprise attack breaking us up like that. We’ve already been lost nearly twice. The last thing we need to be is lost  _ and  _ separated from each other. Understood?”

Sigrun and Anders nod, but Nathaniel’s eyes stay turned towards the ground. Cecilia’s brows furrow; the last thing she needs is for Nathaniel to get smart with her. She’s too stressed out for disobedience, and Nathaniel has been  _ fine  _ ever since their talk post-Joining. Stepping closer to him, she’s about to repeat herself, but then she notices how his pale skin seems almost translucent. He stumbles forward with a cough, and Anders catches him before his face meets the dirty floor. 

“Nate, your back!” Anders’ face drops while his voice jumps an octave. Cecilia looks and is greeted by the sight of thick, dark blood seeping through a slice in Nathaniel’s leather cuirass. Unlike her padded and protected Warden Commander gambeson, the armors they had scrounged up around Vigil’s Keep for Nathaniel, Anders, and Oghren were sub-par in quality as they waited for their official Warden armors. Luckily, Sigrun’s Legion of the Dead armor seems sturdy enough to fight in. Poor Anders is still in his Circle robes.

“I’m fine,” Nathaniel hisses, flinching as Anders puts pressure on the wound with a glowing hand. Adrenaline makes Cecilia’s face flush with worry, and she comes to support Nathaniel’s other side, slowly guiding him down onto his knees. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Cecilia tries to keep her voice steady, but the amount of blood staining the deep brown leather has her worried.  _ I won’t lose a Warden so soon, not to an injury like this! _

Nathaniel draws in a sharp breath, shifting to rest on his palms as he waits for Anders. “I didn’t want to worry you. You and Sigrun were surrounded.”

“Don’t try and play the hero, Nathaniel. That’s how you die.” A hand goes to her necklace, fingers brushing against Alistair’s Joining pendant.  _ I know that all too well.  _ “Anders, you  _ can _ heal him, yes?”

“ _ Can  _ I? Yes.  _ Will _ I?”

Cecilia glares at the mage.

Anders shrinks in his robes. “Also yes.” A nervous chuckle. “Nate, lose the armor. I can’t get a clean heal if there’s bits in it.”

A gruff noise, but Nathaniel complies. The way his face contorts in a silent pain as he peels off his cuirass leaves Cecilia wincing for him. When the torn top is thrown to the side, Anders inhales sharply.

“What? Was the blade poisoned? Darkspawn like to do that.” Sigrun asks, moving behind Nathaniel to stand next to a now-kneeling Anders. Her bright blue eyes widen in shock, and Cecilia’s stomach twists.  _ How bad is it? Shit, fuck, Nate can’t die! _

Cecilia rises from in front of Nathaniel, rounding behind him and looking down. What she sees makes her twisting stomach drop.

Nathaniel’s back, as expansive and freckled as it is, is covered in thin white scars. The skin is twisted and marred, and these scars run across his back from his shoulders down to his waist, dipping below the band of his pants. It’s not hard to tell what caused these scars: the popper of a whip, braided tight. Cecilia has to restrain herself from reaching out and running her thumb over the mess of his back. Just looking at it makes her blood boil but also an immense guilt set in:  _ there’s only one monster who would do this. Thank the Maker I put him in the ground. Too bad I couldn’t have done it sooner. _

“Well?” Nathaniel growls, bringing Cecilia back to reality. His fingers dig in the dirt, and he shoots a cold look over his shoulder. “Are you going to heal me, or is this how you finally get rid of me, Commander?”

“Sorry, Nate.” Anders mutters, a soft white light surrounding his hands. “Relax, this will sting.”

“Trust me, I won’t feel it.” Nathaniel says through gritted teeth. 

And that breaks Cecilia’s heart.

—

“Mind if I join you?”

Nathaniel’s voice, soft and solid, rouses Cecilia from her thoughts. 

She hums. “I’m shocked you’re not asleep with the others; it’s quite late.”

“I could say the same for you.” 

Cecilia snorts, taking a long drag from her tobacco roll-up. A week in the Deep Roads was a week too long for Cecilia, and her body ached for fresh air. Leaning on the edge of the battlements is the closest she can get to the stars, and even on this cloudy night, that still brings her comfort.

When she exhales, she’s joined by smoke from Nathaniel’s mouth. She reaches out a hand, lazily twisting the two clouds with her fingers before waving it away. Beside her, Nathaniel chuckles, and Cecilia looks at him over her shoulder. “You’re in a good mood. We should alert the Chantry. Declare it a holiday.” Her voice is deadpan, an eyebrow cocked, but it’s all in good humor.

Nathaniel shakes his head to hide his smile, then leans next to her on the battlements, his elbow brushing against hers. The ground is a ways below them, far enough that Cecilia can’t see where her ashes land when she taps her roll-up. “I’m grateful to be out of the miserable Deep Roads is all. I don’t know how Anders and Sigrun were able to collapse so quickly once we got back. Sitting in my quarters feels—“

“Constricting?” Cecilia offers.

He nods.

“Trust me, you never get used to it. It takes me a few days to get back to being comfortable being indoors.” She explains, and Nathaniel nods again, taking a long drag. When he exhales, his body relaxes, and their elbows knock together. Just the touch brings color to her cheeks, and Cecilia looks away and curses herself. Despite everything, with him leaving her and never writing back and then everything with that  _ bastard _ Rendon and then Nathaniel coming back only to try and kill her based on a misunderstood hatred, it seems that Cecilia never quite got over their little fling two years ago.

“So, ah,” she starts, fumbling with the sleeve of her tunic in an attempt to look nonchalant. Nathaniel looks at her, his eyes softer than normal. It makes her face go hot, and she stutters trying to think of a question. “W-When this is all over, what do you think you’ll do?”

Nathaniel is silent. It’s a  _ hell _ of a question, she’ll give herself that. He runs a hand over his hair, fingers brushing back long black locks. “I... don’t think I can go back to the Free Marches, for a number of reasons. Delilah offered me a room when I spoke with her, but with the baby I would not want to intrude.” A long sigh escapes him, marred with smoke. “Maybe I’ll travel. I’ve always wanted to see Antiva.”

“I know an Antivan, a Crow. He tried to kill me.” Cecilia smiles at the memory of Zevran. A letter from him awaited her in her bedroom;  _ probably his latest tale of sleeping his way across Ferelden. Or maybe he’s made it back to Antiva by now? _

“And you  _ didn’t  _ make him a Warden? I feel like I got the short end of the stick here.” Nathaniel’s words slip between his smirk, and Cecilia gently knocks her elbow against his.

“I didn’t  _ need _ Wardens then. Besides, Zevran would make a piss-poor Warden. He’s terrified of Darkspawn.”

“Aren’t we all?” 

Cecilia chuckles. “I’d like to believe that the Darkspawn are terrified of me. How was it you described me again? Ten feet tall with lighting bolts shooting out of my eyes?”

Nathaniel cocks a brow, his smirk widening into a snarky grin. “Maybe back then, but not now.”

The two of them straighten out and face each other, Cecilia’s arms crossing over her chest. Jutting out a hip, she looks up at Nathaniel while trying to keep her expression stony and serious. “Oh yeah? How would you describe me now?”

Nathaniel hums to himself, tapping a long finger against his scruffy chin. Internally, Cecilia’s heart pounds as she watches him. There’s still  _ something _ about him that drives her crazy, and she’s never been able to pinpoint it. She tries to suppress it, because having a crush on one of the people she’s supposed to be in charge of is  _ bad  _ and  _ wrong,  _ but a blush still coats her face with Nathaniel slips a crooked finger under her chin and lifts her head up so their eyes meet. “I’d say... you’re a tiny little morsel that the Darkspawn can’t wait to sink their teeth into. No more lightning bolts, either.”

Cecilia is about to call him an asshole, roll her eyes and playfully shove him away. She would chalk up their closeness to the relief of breathing fresh air for the first time in a week, nothing more. But the way his thumb drags over her chin, the very tip of it brushing against her round bottom lip, sends sparks flying through her. Her face goes warm, enough so that Nathaniel notices and his smirk widens.

_ Roguish, handsome asshole. _

Before they can do anything Cecilia would curse herself for in the morning, she steadies herself and steps back, breaking their touch. The contact still lingers on her skin, and she tries to distract herself by taking a long drag from her crackling roll-up. With her eyes averted to the side, she only catches the end of Nathaniel flicking the burnt butt of his roll-up over the edge of the battlements. The little orange ember disappears in the darkness, and Cecilia wishes she could do the same.

_ This was a mistake. What are you doing?  _ She mentally kicks herself.  _ He broke your heart, remember?  _

The silence falls between them as her mind chastises her. Nathaniel  _ did  _ break her heart, that much was true. It felt like eons ago, but barely two years had passed since their last meeting. But they had both changed so much — for the better? She wasn’t able to tell yet.

When Cecilia looks back at Nathaniel, he might be back to leaning over the edge of the battlements, but Cecilia can see two circles of ice blue focused on her out of the corners of his eyes. Their gazes meet, and Cecilia notices that in the time of her getting lost in her thoughts, he lit another roll-up. A long drag, and then the smoke curls from his nose like dragon’s breath. Cecilia’s mouth goes dry, and when she tries to busy it with a puff, she finds that she’s burnt down to the butt of her roll-up. She coughs as she tosses it over the edge of the battlements, joining Nathaniel’s discarded end.

All he does is widen his smirk, take another drag, and exhale through his nose again. Silence falls between them, and Cecilia is left standing there like a fool.

_ Fuck. Him. _

“How is your back?”

Cecilia blurts out the question, trying desperately to fill the silence. Nathaniel shifts, rolling his shoulders back. “Fine. Anders healed it well. I can still shoot a bow.”

Short, quipped answers. Cecilia chews on her bottom lip, the feeling of his touch still dancing over her skin. The memory of the scars littering his back still hasn’t left her mind. The last time she saw him shirtless, he kept his back turned away from her. Laying on the bed in the guest room of Castle Cousland, him looking up at her, his fingers ghosting over her thighs as he took her for her first ti—

** _Focus._ **

She can’t help herself; Cecilia reaches out and rests her fingers on his side, right above his hip ( _ he’s ticklish there,  _ she remembers). Nathaniel tenses, his head whipping around to look at her. In the shock, his roll-up falls from his fingers and disappears into the darkness below.

“What?” He asks, his voice a hiss. 

“I—“ Cecilia starts, recoiling and pulling her hand away. “I, I meant… I saw your back when Anders was healing you.” She takes a deep breath. “If I may inquire?”

Nathaniel turns away, his head falling forward so far that his chin is nearly touching his chest. His black locks curl around his face, acting as a veil and hiding his expression. This time, Cecilia doesn’t try to break the silence. She lets them sit in it, giving Nathaniel the time he needs.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t need much. As he starts to speak, his voice is low, his head still hung. “As a child, I idolized my father. I always stayed by his side, never strayed, never did anything he didn’t like in his presence. But that was never good enough for him.  _ Nothing  _ was ever good enough for him.”

Nathaniel draws in a deep breath, lifting his head to look at Cecilia, who is frozen in place. “I was his punching bag, especially after Thomas was born. Thomas broke easily under his thumb. The perfect, subservient son, he was. And Delilah was  _ Delilah.  _ He never liked how Mother doted over her. He might have hated her more than he hated me, but I never let him touch her, not once. As much of an ass as I was to her, I never wanted her to be hurt. He claimed every whipping and beating would make me stronger, make me listen to him, make me _ him.  _ If I just relented,  _ obeyed _ , I would have been the perfect Howe he always wanted.” 

A huff. Nathaniel stands up straight, facing Cecilia with his hands clenched by his sides. His voice is ice when he speaks. “The last thing I ever wanted was to be a Howe.”

His words are chilling, striking Cecilia to the core. She knew her parents thought Howe was too hard on his children, but Cecilia had no idea how awful he was.  _ Did they? _ Bryce and her had only raised their voices at each other on fewer occasions than she could count on one hand, her and Eleanor even less. She simply could not understand how someone could be so...  _ monstrous _ . Even though Rendon Howe was dead in the ground, the things she continued to learn about him made her hate him more and more with each passing day. 

Tears — of rage, anger, sadness — prick at her lavender eyes. Damn her sensitive tendencies, but she cannot help but feel for him. Besides their past, she’s still allowed to care for one of her charges. 

How Nathaniel manages to remain so stone-cold and blank-faced after that confession, Cecilia has no idea. Before she can really think the action through, Cecilia reaches out and pulls Nathaniel into an embrace. Her arms wind around his center, squeezing him tight. Those tears fall unabashedly, hidden and soaking into Nathaniel’s thin shirt. 

It takes a moment, but Nathaniel’s arms wind around her body, a big hand resting on the back of her head. His fingers weave through her loose hair, pushing it down in a soothing motion. His other arm is tight around the small of her back, holding her close against him. Nathaniel’s scent, oaky yet fresh, envelops Cecilia, and she draws in a shaky breath.

They stay like that long enough that Cecilia loses track of time. Just the two of them, holding each other, alone except for the stars peeking down at them through the clouds. The moon is a sliver above them, its light brushing against them barely illuminating their embrace. They’re hidden, and would be lost from the world if not for the steadfast grip they have on each other.

She can hear his heartbeat, feel it against her face as they stand there. It’s rapid, echoing in his chest and bouncing all about. If not for the tears staining her cheeks, Cecilia would have pulled back by now to tease Nathaniel over it. The beat of his heart is offset by him rocking on the soles of his feet. It’s gentle, slow and rhythmic. It could be the start to a dance if there was music. Instead, the only sound is Nathaniel’s heartbeat matching her own and the wind spinning around them. His movements are slow enough to calm her down, and eventually Cecilia finds the strength to lean away from him.

They stay tangled in each other’s arms, staring at the other for a brief moment. Nathaniel’s face is still stoic, but there’s a softness behind his eyes, like before. He’s the one to break their hold on each other, reaching up to brush away a tear sitting on Cecilia’s cheek. “ _ Shh _ ,” he mutters, his voice even and surprisingly gentle. “Nothing to fear. I’m right here, Lia.”

There it is. That pet name that only he uses that tugs on her heartstrings every time. Cecilia still can’t understand why he won’t call her  _ Cece  _ like everyone else, but from the first time they met, it was  _ Lia. Lovely Lia,  _ he called her once, ages ago, in between kissing her neck.  _ My lovely Lia. _

Cecilia takes a step backwards, pulling out of Nathaniel’s embrace. With the sleeve of her shirt, Cecilia dabs at her eyes, trying to force a joke out to lighten the mood. “Look at you, consoling me when it should be the other way ‘round!”

A smile, thin and sad but a smile nonetheless, grows on Nathaniel’s face. When she looks up at him, her tears wiped away, Nathaniel pulls her in for one more hug. It’s brief, but sweet, and it brings color back to her cold cheeks. “Come now, it’s getting rather late. You said it yourself, we have an early start tomorrow to the Wending Woods.”

Nathaniel offers his hand, bending slightly at his waist. Cecilia shakes her head with a smile, but she still places her hand in his. His fingers squeeze around hers, and she allows him to lead her back into Vigil’s Keep. “You’re right. Bright and early. If you’re not up, I’m leaving you behind and taking Oghren.”

He looks over his shoulder, that roguish smirk back. “I would not dream of missing it, Commander.”

“Cecilia.” She shoots back, her smile widening at the old game of titles they used the play.

“ _ Lia. _ ”

She swallows roughly. A deep breath. “ _ Nate.” _

—

**9:35 Dragon**

The sun peeks through the thin curtains of their bedroom. Cecilia has been up for the better part of a half hour now, spread across the bed. Beside her, Nathaniel snores softly, his face buried into the oversized pillows on the bed, his arms encircling his head. The soft gray sheets have slipped down his body, pooling around his lithe waist. Sunlight dances over his skin, gliding over his back.

Cecilia cannot help herself, reaching out and tracing the tips of two fingers down his spine ever so gently. Through a series of salves and healing sessions from Anders, the whipping scars have faded away. Not disappeared completely — she can still feel the dips of them under her touch — but enough that he can walk around without a shirt and not feel self-conscious.

A low rumble from Nathaniel has her smiling, and Cecilia leans over in bed to press a kiss to his shoulder, nuzzling the light freckles with her nose. “Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

He grumbles something in response that she cannot make out, not lifting his head. A snore, loud and obnoxiously fake, follows and leaves Cecilia chuckling to herself. In an attempt to rouse him, she walks her fingers up his back; they trot into his hair, loosely twisting his long locks around them. She scratches his scalp with her nails, and that is what finally stirs him. Nathaniel lifts his head with a lazy smile, and Cecilia tucks his hair behind his ears for him. Sleep circles his light eyes, and he yawns quietly.

A kiss is pressed to his cheek, and Nathaniel lifts an arm so Cecilia can lay beside him. She does so gladly, snuggling up and shimmying underneath him. They share a brief kiss, then Nathaniel rests his head in the crook of her neck, pecking lazy kisses against the smooth skin.

“Don’t fall asleep again, Nate,” She chides him, going back to carding her fingers through his hair. “We have a long day today.”

Another noisy, fake snore pulls a laugh from her, and she swats at the back of his head. “Any minute now, Seneschal Garevel is going to be knocking down our door so we can start greeting visitors.” Cecilia pauses to kiss his forehead, then they exchange a sweet kiss once he lifts his head. Her voice drops down to a whisper. “It’s not every day their Arlessa gets engaged.”

The band around her finger, silver and inlaid with small purple gems, catches the sunlight as she rests her hands on Nathaniel’s back. Her pointer traces the dip of an old scar, and Nathaniel raises an eyebrow. “Yes, but  _ they  _ are not the ones marrying you.  _ I  _ am.”

Something about the way Nathaniel’s voice drops sends a shiver through her, visible enough that Nathaniel notices. A smirk twitches on his lips, and he nods towards the door. “Lock it, then get back here. The visitors can wait. I get you first, and forevermore.”

A ruddy color covers her cheeks, and Cecilia is all too happy to oblige. She’s quick to jump back into bed, pressing a kiss to his shoulder while his back to her as he goes about fixing the pillows. Nathaniel doesn’t flinch away from her kiss like he used to whenever she would touch his back. She nuzzles her nose over the scar from the Darkspawn blade all those years ago, and when Nathaniel finally turns around and grabs her waist, her grin widens.

_ Maker’s breath, I am the luckiest woman in Thedas. _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I truly appreciate it. If you liked this, leave a kudos and a comment. Shout out to the-dead-pixel on tumblr for being the BEST beta ever! Give her a follow!  
I love y’all! Thanks again for reading and for all of the support!


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